Dancing on the Edge of Love
by brickroad16
Summary: As famous cinema star Arthur Pendragon's personal assistant, Merlin doesn't think his employer's half-sister thinks of him as anything more than a friend. And Morgana's always had attention from men, so why is Merlin so different? Modern day AU. M/M. G/A.
1. Don't You Wanna Dive On In?

Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin _or its characters.

A/N: This is basically just a bit of fluff for all the M/M lovers out there, but it's also a chance for me to try something with differing perspectives. Most of my stories are strictly from one character's POV, so let me know how you think I did with this style. :)

This is part one of a planned three.

* * *

Merlin sighs as he steps through the French doors and outside into the bright morning sunshine. Arthur, dressed in boxer shorts and an open robe, waltzes over to the crystal-clear pool and kicks up a bit of the water. Merlin watches his employer suspiciously, wondering what scheme he's going to come up with next.

Arthur throws his arms open. "It's a glorious day, isn't it, Merlin?"

"Yeah," Merlin agrees cautiously. "Very sunny."

He, unlike Arthur, isn't wearing sunglasses, and he turns his eyes away from the glare only to have his breath catch in his throat when he realizes that Morgana and Gwen are sunbathing on lounge chairs on the other side of the pool.

Arthur's half-sister is wearing a dark red one-piece, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose as she occupies herself with a thick paperback. Gwen, her assistant, turns away from her _National Geographic_ to read an incoming text message.

Merlin looks away before either notices him. Even though it's fairly early in the morning (early for Arthur's standards anyways), the sun is beating down and he's starting to swelter in his jeans and polo. He tugs at his shirt collar.

"You know, Arthur, if there's nothing for me to do, I should probably go return some phone calls."

"What's your hurry?"

"You do want that audition for that new historical drama Cameron keeps talking about, don't you?"

"Merlin! I just got back from a four-month shoot in California. Work can wait for a day."

"Does that mean I have the day off?"

"Of course not. I've got a special job that only you can do."

Merlin pauses, waiting for the bomb to drop.

Arthur grins. "I want to throw a party."

* * *

Merlin's eyebrows creep higher and higher and finally disappear beneath his hair as he holds his mobile away from his ear and listens to an irate Norwegian man explain why there's no possible way they can ship a case of Freia chocolate bars from Oslo to Cawsand by tomorrow.

"Okay, okay," Merlin says. "Yes, I understand. Thank you anyway."

And he ends the call, cutting off the man in mid-shout. He closes his eyes and leans his head back with a sigh. Sometimes he wonders why he took this job at all, when half the time, instead of petitioning for a role for Arthur in the latest blockbuster or networking among Hollywood elites, his responsibilities consist of throwing parties and running all over the country on crazy, nearly impossible errands.

And sometimes, he wishes he could just use his magic to get the stupid chocolate. But when he came to England a year ago, he promised his mother that he would only use his abilities for good, noble deeds, lest using it for small, useless, everyday tasks would lead to laziness and corruption.

He sighs. Magic would make his job so much easier. And it's not like he's never cheated a little before, especially at household chores.

He lifts his gaze and freezes when he sees Morgana wandering down the hall on her way to the kitchen, book still in hand. She pauses outside his office door, a smile coming to her face when she notices him.

Poking her head into the doorway, she asks, "Arthur's demands proving a bit too ludicrous?"

Startled, Merlin looks up, happy to see her and even more relieved to see that she's changed out of her bathing suit and into shorts and a tank top.

"Ludicrous _and_ impossible to procure," he laughs. Waving the list Arthur's given him, he says, "Look at this. I'm never going to get all this done by tomorrow, and I still have to invite people!"

"Well, here," she says, waltzing into the room with a wicked grin on her lips and holding out her hand for the list. He hands it to her, and she promptly rips it in two and hands one half back to him.

"Now, you only have to deal with half," she tells him.

Merlin stares at her in awe before a smile spreads across his face. "Don't you have better things to do than to help me with one of Arthur's ridiculous parties?"

"Such as?"

"I don't know. Win the Pulitzer or something?"

She flops down into an easy chair in the corner with a laugh. "Well, I'd be perfectly content never winning the Pulitzer if only someone would read my books."

Merlin frowns. She had given away copies of her debut novel to family and friends when it was released six months ago, but it's been a struggle trying to get anyone besides Gwen to read it. And, despite the fact that he's been in California for Arthur's movie shoot for the past four months, he's still noticed how much the lack of reaction from the people she cares about has hurt her.

Swiveling in his chair, he grabs a book off his bookshelf and hands it to her.

Something warm and unfamiliar wells in Morgana's heart as she takes in the broken spine, the dog-eared pages, the missing cover. Not only has this book been read, but it's been well-loved.

"You mean you haven't donated it to the library yet?" she teases.

"I'd tell you how many times I've read it already, but I don't want to inflate your ego," he replies playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

He knows Uther and Arthur haven't read it. He's even reminded Arthur over and over again through the months. But there comes a time when familial disappointment becomes the norm, and he hates seeing Morgana subjected to that.

Besides, the book _is_ brilliant, and the literary world seems to agree – Morgana's become its newest darling. Not that she acts it, hiding out in Cawsand instead of accepting the invitations that roll in through her agent. Sometimes he doesn't understand why she spends so much time here, why she continues to share a house with Arthur when she'd be much happier living on her own, leading her own life.

"But no," he says more seriously, "you know I love it."

"Thank you, Merlin," she says, dipping her eyes almost bashfully. "That means a lot coming from you." Propping her feet up on his desk, she continues, "Maybe we should put Gwen in charge of guests."

* * *

Morgana collapses into a patio chair, dissolving into a fit of laughter.

She hasn't had this much fun since the night she, Merlin, and Gwen had to prevent a drunk and determined Arthur from declaring his love and proposing elopement to a girl named Vivian he'd met in a pub, or the weekend they'd spent driving all across England because Arthur had to find the perfect Christmas tree. (Because somehow all their craziest times seem to revolve around Arthur.)

It's nearly three in the morning, and they decided around eleven that this task couldn't be accomplished without alcohol. So now Merlin's tottering dangerously on a chair as he desperately attempts to hang a strand of lights.

They'd tried using magic at one point, but, after three beers, Merlin had lost his concentration and his magic had started to fizzle out and Morgana was producing nothing but sparks. Occasionally even full-out explosions if she wasn't careful.

"Maybe I can help," she suggests through a giggle, sparks jumping across her palm.

"No!" he exclaims, turning around so violently that he loses his balance. Flailing his arms wildly, he tumbles off the chair and lands face-first in a bush.

She gasps, half-risen from her chair. And then the bush begins to shake, and she can hear his quiet laughter. It becomes more audible when he rolls onto his back and props himself up by his elbows, the sound carrying through the night.

Morgana, descending into mirth once again, nevertheless gets up to shove him on the shoulder, effectively forcing him back to the ground.

"Don't scare me like that," she tells him, her voice holding little weight.

"You were the one who scared me first! I don't want you blowing me up with your drunk!magic!"

"Please, I am not drunk," she insists. "Tipsy, yes, but not drunk. Believe me, you'd know if I were drunk."

If anything, _he_'s the one three sheets to the wind.

Merlin, content to lie on his back, chuckles softly, because he's seen her drunk before, most memorably the night her manuscript got purchased. They had somehow ended up on the roof of the house, clambering over the tiles for a foothold so they could watch the stars. Not the safest situation, obviously, but definitely one of the most enjoyable.

Morgana plops down on the patio stones and smiles down at him. His dark hair blends into the shadows of the bush, but the moonlight illuminates his pale skin beautifully, and she's reminded of that night they spent on the roof.

"You're too good for this," she tells him quietly.

He tears his gaze from the stars to look up at her, his brow furrowed and his eyelids heavy. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Look at you," she chastises, "chasing down Swiss chocolate and tracking down barely-known indie bands and procuring rare foreign beer all because my spoiled brother tells you to. Can you imagine a bigger waste of such amazing talent?"

"It was Norwegian, actually." Off her frown, he elaborates, "The chocolate. Nor-_we_-gian."

The way he draws out the word leaves her in no doubt that he's had one too many beers.

She scoffs lightly. "Of course."

Merlin pushes himself to a sitting position, a sloppy smile tugging at his lips. "You're angry. Why are you angry?"

"Because," she answers, shaking her head uselessly. "You're . . . better than this."

A frown darkens her face as she pulls her knees in and crosses her arms over them. She gazes away at the moonlight glinting off the pool, and tells herself it's just the alcohol talking. She's been friends with Merlin for a long time now, and it's always been an easy, effortless sort of thing. But she's never dared damaging that by bringing this up before.

He's wasting his life, his talents, here.

He's a great friend to her brother, that's true, and she knows that Merlin's been the driving influence behind Arthur's subtle transformation from arrogant cinema star to decent human being.

"I know it's . . . unusual," he drawls, "but Arthur, he's so _popular_. I mean, he's a prat sometimes, yeah, but he's a useful prat. I can do things now, good things. Because I've got the plans, and he's got the . . . the . . ." Gesturing widely, Merlin trails off.

"The power?" Morgana suggests.

It's not the word he's looking for. He twists his head. "Ehhhh."

"The means?"

"Uh-uh."

"The influence?"

"Yes. _Yes_," he says triumphantly, dropping a sleepy head to her shoulder.

"All your charities, that's why you stay?"

Merlin nods against her shoulder. "And the thing is, I think Arthur's starting to get it. Children in Need last year was his idea, you know."

"Well, you have a good influence on him, no doubt," she replies quietly. She hesitates before lifting a hand to stroke his hair.

"Maybe," he mumbles with a smack of his lips. "But really, I stay because I like it here."

A smile grows on Morgana's lips as she contemplates that. After a while, she sighs and murmurs, "I suppose I could think of a few things worth sticking around for."

Merlin doesn't reply.

"Merlin?"

Frowning, Morgana tilts her head to find him sleeping soundly, his lips fluttering as he exhales. He lets out a soft snore, and, chuckling, she presses a kiss to his forehead.

"Good night, Merlin."

* * *

"Morgana!"

Morgana whirls around at the sound of her name, dark waves of her hair fluttering into her face. A tall, well-built man with short black hair and tan skin stands across the balcony, his straight white teeth shining as he grins at her.

"Lance," she smiles, strolling over to him.

Arthur's best friend since they were twelve, Lance has been like a brother to her. The much nicer, sweeter brother to Arthur's pesky one, of course.

Lance, laughing throatily, sets his beer on the balcony balustrade and wraps her in a bear hug.

"What are you doing here?" she asks. "I thought you were in Poland filming a movie."

"You know me. When Arthur throws a party, I can't pass it up. I'm going back at the end of the weekend, though."

"Well, it's great to see you," she smiles.

He hasn't been around since winter, when he'd been in London for a play, and it's nice to have him around again. She runs her eyes over him, drinking in his friendly face and trying to see if anything about him has changed. He's dressed in dark baggy blue jeans and a tight red t-shirt that hugs his massive biceps.

"You look pretty good," Morgana tells him, poking him in the arm. "They must be feeding you pretty well over there."

Chuckling, he crosses his arms and leans against the railing. "Oh, they've got amazing food," he gushes. "I'm surprised I haven't gained much weight. But our filming schedule is pretty rigorous, so the exercise helps me work off everything I eat, I suppose."

Morgana sits back with a smile. "Of course, of course. You'll have to make me some of these Polish dishes when you finally get back. Which is when?"

"We finish sometime in September, I think. But look at you," he says, gesturing at her outfit. "Who are you all dressed up for? Someone who's caught your eye, perhaps? Wait, has Arthur seen you? Because that thing barely covers up anything, and I don't think he wants to spend his night bashing in the heads of every guy who ogles you."

She blushes, waves off his teasing, and steals his beer to take a sip. Her dress is deep maroon, a short halter that shows off her toned thighs, and the silky material clings unabashedly to her hips. She usually doesn't care for Arthur's parties, finds his group of friends to be obsequious and self-serving, but Lance had been unnervingly close to the mark in his guess.

Morgana rolls her eyes at his brotherly concern. "I can handle Arthur."

"Well," Lance shrugs, "I can handle him for you, if you want to get him out of your hair while you go meet your paramour."

She looks at him incredulously, but then he waggles his eyebrows and she bumps him in the shoulder, nearly sending him over the balcony.

"What?" he laughs.

"You were always the nice one, and Arthur was the prat. What happened?"

"I'm sorry," he tells her, but he hasn't stopped laughing. "And give me back my beer."

"Fine. I'll just have to get my own. What ever happened to a thing called chivalry?"

"It died out with the Golden Age, my dear," Lance teases before suggesting innocently enough, "Why don't you ask Merlin? _He_'ll get you one, I'm sure." He laughs and nods his head towards where Merlin is standing on the opposite side of the balcony, near the drink cooler, in jeans, tenners, and a black button-down.

She lifts a brow. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Please," he scoffs good-naturedly.

Lance rolls his eyes. The boy's had a crush on Morgana ever since he started working for Arthur two years ago. But, even though he's not always around, he's nevertheless noticed that the crush has deepened, turned into something stronger. And he doesn't know who Morgana thinks she's fooling. The girl lights up like a Fawkes effigy whenever Merlin's around.

"Why do you two dance around each other all the time?" he queries, genuinely curious.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He bumps her shoulder and coaxes, "Come on. You're too smart to play stupid."

Morgana, sighing, crosses her arms and leans back against the balustrade. "It's . . . complicated."

"Why? Because he's your brother's best friend?"

"How'd you even know?" Morgana frowns. Then, more insistently, "How long have you known?"

He grins. "Since about a week after he started working for Arthur."

Morgana frowns thoughtfully. There's something about Merlin certainly; she knew it from the first time she laid eyes on him. And it's not just that he shares her magic. It's deeper.

Ever since she was fifteen, men looked at her in a certain way. She'd been content, happy even, and she liked to feel beautiful. But then Arthur had advertised for a new assistant, and it happened that their old physician's nephew had just moved in with him and was looking for work.

That's how Merlin walked into her life. No miracle, just a simple series of coincidences. But from the start, he'd made her feel like she was so much more than what others made of her, more than just her beauty.

One conversation with him and she didn't want to skirt by on just her looks anymore. She wanted more. Merlin had been the first one she'd shown her writing to, the first to encourage her. He's practically the reason she's a published author now. He's the reason she's no longer known as "Arthur's pretty sister" anymore. She's finding herself, finding who she wants to be as a person, finding her own worth in life, using her own talents to get by.

All because of a clumsy boy with angular cheeks and enchanting blue eyes.

Lance sighs. "Is it because he's gone a lot, on Arthur's movie shoots? Morgana, that's no reason –"

"It's not that," she assures him with a shake of her head.

"Then what?'

"He doesn't even _like_ me."

Lance lets out a hearty laugh, and Morgana turns to him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

"What the hell is so funny, Lancelot du Lake?" she demands.

"It's just, can you really not see that that boy has eyes for no one but you?"

Morgana stares at him, her heart fluttering hopefully. Quietly, she asks, "Are you joking with me? If you're joking with me, I swear –"

"Would I lie to you, Morg? Look," he takes her by the shoulders and turns her to look at Merlin.

He's been backed into the corner by a brunette, but she can tell just by the embarrassed look on his face, by the way he nervously scratches his eyebrow, that he's more uncomfortable than flattered by the attention.

"He'd much rather be talking to _you_," Lance chuckles, giving her a little push on the shoulder. "So why don't you go over there and rescue him?"

Morgana turns on her heel. "B-but –"

"But nothing. The two of you have been acting like fools for years now. Just jump already."

"But he never even pays attention when I flirt!"

"So the guy's a little slow on the uptake," Lance shrugs. "But trust me, I know what I'm talking about." His grin fades a little when he adds, "I know what it is to love someone from afar, thinking it's impossible."

Right on cue, a shriek from down below catches their attention, and Morgana turns to see her brother teasing Gwen. Arthur holds a towel over his head, keeping it away from Gwen, while she tries in vain to retrieve it.

"A kiss!" Arthur shouts. "I shall hold thy towel ransom until you bestow upon me a kiss, my lady!"

Lance turns away, a frown on his face and his arms crossed. Softly, he says, "If you wait too long, you're going to miss your chance."

Morgana leans into him and slides a comforting arm around his back. There's nothing she can say to soothe the ache in his heart. He'd been cautious, admiring Gwen from afar, and then the delicate balance had collapsed the day Arthur decided to take matters into his own hands, swooping in to sweep her off her feet.

"Just think," she says, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek, "we'll always have each other."

"Wonderful," he deadpans, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Now go! Before I ask him out _for_ you."

* * *

Merlin breaks out into a relieved smile as Morgana saunters over. He'd noticed her earlier in the night, noticed the slinky maroon dress (his favorite color, though any color looks amazing on her) that barely covers anything, but the sight of her in it and walking over to him still makes his heart skip a beat. He has to make a conscious effort not to ogle.

"Hi," she greets, her gaze flicking over the pretty brunette standing in front of him. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

The girl looks familiar, but Morgana can't quite place her.

Before he can answer, the girl murmurs a soft goodbye and makes a quick exit, Merlin nodding at her retreating form.

"No. Nope," he says, "Not interrupting at all."

Morgana leans against the balustrade and sidles up against him. "So," she says, bumping his shoulder, "you pulled off a pretty good party."

He grins. "_We_ did."

"So what's next?"

"Uh," Merlin chuckles, "I'm not sure. Arthur's got a movie shoot scheduled in August, and then he's up for a lead role in this historical action drama. We'll probably hang around here a bit before heading off to the shoot."

"Well," she smiles, "you'll be here for a couple of months. That'll be fun."

"Yeah. Yeah, it will be. I won't lie, though – there'll probably be a few more parties."

She laughs, and he can't stop staring at her, has to remind himself not to keep staring at her lips. His work schedule and responsibilities keep him from spending as much time here as he would like, but the prospect of taking time off is more tempting now that he knows Morgana will be around as well.

It's getting to the point where he feels like a teenager around her, where he's glad to spend time with her because it's _her_, even if they're not together, even if she'd never look at him that way.

He opens his mouth to ask her about her plans for the summer, hoping that she intends to spend as much time with him as he intends to spend with her, but his thoughts are interrupted when Freya, one of the Pendragons' servants, steps out of the house and heads straight for them.

"Merlin!"

Morgana purses her lips. Freya's off duty, and she doesn't have a problem with the girl at all, except for the fact that she's always had a bit of a crush on Merlin. Morgana is a naturally passionate person; she's prone to anger and jealousy. But the stirrings of envy within her when she's around Merlin are stronger and more acute than the envy of a spoiled rich girl when someone else has the designer handbag she wants.

Freya, a black-haired, petite young woman, stops short in front of them and says, "Merlin, your office, it's . . . um, it seems to be _occupied_."

He tilts his head. "What? What do you mean? I thought I locked it earlier."

"I don't know. All I know is that I was coming back from the kitchen, and, well, I heard people in there."

"Do you know who it was? Why they were there?" An aside, he mumbles, "What would they want with my office?"

Chuckling softly, Morgana explains, "She means they were making out, Merlin. It's not _your_ office they wanted, just an empty space, away from everyone."

Merlin looks at her before realization dawns on his face. "_Oh_."

Freya shifts from foot to foot. "Well, I just thought I should let you know."

"Yeah. Thank you."

He crosses his arms as Freya leaves before turning to Morgana. "What should I do? I mean, I'm not the most authoritative person, and I'm not sure if they'd even listen to me if I asked them to leave, but it's also my office, and I don't really want two strangers . . . you know . . ."

She laughs as he gestures. He's right – he's not exactly the type to strut in and reclaim his office as his own, especially not from a couple engaged in amorous activities.

"Come on," Morgana urges, taking his hand and pulling him inside the house. "Let's go deal with this."

Merlin grins as he follows her. He loves watching her take charge like this. They wind their way through the manor, hand in hand, until they reach the hallway outside his office. The lights are on, the door slightly ajar, and drunken laughter drifts through. He puts his hands on his hips.

"So what do we do?" he asks quietly

"Just follow my lead," Morgana replies with a smirk.

And he doesn't have a chance to react before she pulls him to her and leads them stumbling through the door. She fists his shirt with one hand, grabs a hold of his neck with the other, and drags him down to her. A spark jumps through him as his lips crash into hers. His mind goes blank, and he forgets why they're doing his at all. The only things he can comprehend are the feel of her thumb brushing against his neck, the pounding of his blood in his ears, the way she tastes of strawberry and a touch of alcohol.

It's enough to intoxicate him, and he hasn't touched a drop all night.

They trip backwards until Morgana's legs hit the edge of the desk, and Merlin's so lost in her that he doesn't want to stop, that he leans her back ever so slightly as he deepens the kiss.

Morgana doesn't protest, and the way she drags her fingers through his hair isn't helping at all.

"_Ahem_. Excuse me."

Merlin jumps back, his cheeks burning red, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

A disheveled couple is staring at them from the armchair in the corner, and it takes him a few seconds to remember his situation.

Morgana – beautiful, quick Morgana – leans into him to hide her embarrassment and says, "We're so sorry! I'm so embarrassed. Honey, I thought you said this was _your_ office."

She discreetly pokes him in the ribs, and he regains enough of his senses to reply, "It _is_ . . . sweetie. Why would I lie?" Turning to the man, he says, "I'm sorry, but if you don't mind . . . we, uh . . ."

The couple in the corner stands up, the woman combing a hand through her hair and smoothing her shirt, a ditzy smile on her face.

"Sorry, man," the man says, a young blond guy Merlin thinks he recognizes as a crew member from one of Arthur's past movie shoots. "We thought it was first come, first served. We'll just, ah, be leaving now, then, shall we?"

He drags his giggling companion away, and they disappear into the hallway.

Despite the fact that the operation turned out to be much easier than he presumed, Merlin finds it difficult to think about anything but her arm around his waist, her palm on his abdomen.

He can still taste her on his tongue.

But she pulls away from him, and he's left empty as he remembers it was all just an act.

"Well," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and glancing at the floor, "you should probably make sure you lock it this time."

Merlin is speechless as Morgana strides out of the office, her pace quick enough to match the pounding of her heart. She should be used to this, used to the way he makes her feel so . . . foolish. She's never been this insecure regarding a man, never more uncertain of how to proceed.

And yet the touch of his lips had made her heart soar, and she can't separate the fear from the hope.


	2. Teasing Me With a Touch

A/N: Pancakes finally make an appearance in a _Merlin _fic! Yay.

Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy the holiday. :)

* * *

Morgana follows the scrumptious scent of breakfast as she winds her way from her bedroom and down the staircase. She inhales deeply, discerning coffee, bacon, and . . . pancakes? Maybe waffles.

Either way, something delicious, something enough to get her mind off all the phone calls she's been ignoring from her agent all morning.

Just the thought of breakfast brings a smile to her lips.

In bare feet, boxers, and a tank top, she stumbles into the kitchen to find Merlin standing at the stove, fully dressed and an apron tied around his waist. A plate of pancakes sits near his elbow, along with bowls of fresh-cut strawberries and blueberries and a package of chocolate chips. She slides into a stool at the table and watches as he picks up a skillet and expertly flips the pancake.

"Bravo," she laughs, clapping.

Merlin whips around, the spatula in his hand flailing as he spins. "I didn't hear you come in," he smiles.

But he's glad she's here, with her wrinkled pajamas and her tousled hair and her oversized glasses.

"But good morning, sleepyhead," he says.

She groans. "What time is it?"

"Past noon. But congratulations – you're the first one up. And for that, you've won . . . a cup of coffee!"

He pours a mug of coffee, grabs the hazelnut creamer from the fridge, and sets them in front of her. Morgana smiles gratefully as she curls her fingers around the warm ceramic. The coffee is just what she needs to wake her up after a night of partying, after a night of running from her feelings.

But it touches her that he always remembers tiny things about her, like that she likes hazelnut in her coffee.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

Merlin leans against the counter with a grin. "No problem. Are you up for some breakfast?"

"I'm starving."

Laughing, he brings the plate of pancakes over to the table. "Well, choose your poison. We've got blueberry, strawberry, cinnamon, and chocolate chip. And, I think it goes without saying, we have bacon."

"You know me so well," she chuckles, selecting a couple strawberry pancakes and plucking a strip of bacon off the platter.

"It's not so hard. After all, no one can resist my pancakes."

Merlin's not the greatest cook, but growing up with just his mom had taught him some basic survival skills, and he'd quickly earned a reputation in the Pendragon household as the go-to man for breakfast.

"That's very true," Morgana agrees before taking another sweet sip of coffee. "Sometimes your breakfast is the only thing that I get up for in the morning."

_Breakfast? Really?_ she asks herself. _And not the sight of his bed hair sticking out in tufts, or his bare, sinewy calves as he plods around the tile floor?_

She shakes her head to clear her thoughts and digs into the pancakes. Her mouth begins to water with the first bite, and she involuntarily closes her eyes to savor the taste.

"Oh, my God," she murmurs, "these are fantastic."

Merlin lets out a delighted laugh as he slides into the seat across from her and stacks some pancakes onto his own plate. "I'm glad you like them."

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, stealing brief glances at each other. Morgana's wearing a soft, enigmatic smile on her face that she can't seem to shake. Merlin takes a gulp of orange juice as he recalls the previous night. After the incident, she had avoided him completely, and he'd been left to wade through his sea of emotions without a guide.

He clears his throat and, poking at a chocolate chip pancake with his fork, asks, "So, how's your new book coming?"

Morgana grumbles incoherently before replying, "Terribly."

Merlin tilts his head in concern. "What do you mean?"

She looks up to give him a tight smile. "I've already had to ask for an extension, and I have no idea what this stupid book is going to be about."

"Well, something will come to you, I'm sure. You're . . . you know," he gestures nervously with his fork.

"I'm what?" she chuckles.

Merlin, a blush rising to his cheeks, glances down and mumbles, "Brilliant."

Morgana can't keep the smile off her lips. And with his downcast eyes and his cheeks tinged with pink, Merlin looks adorable enough, but he's clearly embarrassed.

To put him out of his misery, she tells him, referring to her agent "Aglain keeps trying to get me back on track."

"Oh, yeah? How?"

"Mostly writing exercises. But he's convinced an extended vacation will help clear my head."

Merlin nearly chokes on his orange juice. "A vacation?" he coughs. "To where?"

"Anywhere. Somewhere warm. But now's not really the time to go away, you know?"

"Well," he smiles, a weight lifting off his chest as he realizes that she's not going anywhere, "if you ever need someone to talk to, to discuss ideas with, you know I'm around."

"Thank you, Merlin. I appreciate that."

"How about a historical fantasy, you know, myth and magic and romance and all that?"

Morgana takes another bite and nods thoughtfully. "Sounds interesting, though I can't say I have a lot of experience with fantasy. It certainly won't be what my publisher's expecting."

Merlin opens his mouth to offer more support but then he catches sight of the way she pokes at her pancakes, and he realizes that maybe this isn't the conversation she wants to have right now.

Instead, he asks, "Why do you stay here?"

She looks up, a curious expression in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You asked me why I stay, but you never answered the same question. You could go _anywhere_, and you're always getting invitations, and yet you choose to live in the middle of nowhere, with your brother no less, a brother who does his best to annoy you."

Morgana hesitates, her fingers curled around her coffee mug.

She's not exactly an effusive person, and although Lance has guessed at her feelings, even encouraged her, she finds it hard to come clean, hard to admit to the angular, blue-eyed man sitting across from her that _he_'s the reason. He's what draws her to, keeps her in this ridiculous life.

As she opens her mouth to answer, Gwen and Arthur stumble into the kitchen and help themselves to breakfast.

"I'm starving," Arthur grumbles, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. "Ooh, pancakes. Delicious."

Gwen rolls her eyes as she grabs a plate and sits down next to Morgana. "Thank you for breakfast, Merlin."

Arthur takes a sat beside Merlin, and all four look up as Lance enters the kitchen, a scowl darkening his handsome face. Plopping into the seat beside Morgana, he steals a slice of bacon from her plate.

"What's the matter?" she asks, getting up to pour him a mug of coffee.

He accepts it gratefully and takes a long sip before saying, "My agent just called. The movie I'm working on has been postponed. Routh dropped out."

"Well, hey, it's just a postponement, right?" Morgana says kindly. "It's not like it's been canceled altogether."

"Yeah, but I have a play lined up for the fall, and if we get too far off schedule, I may have to pull out of one or the other."

Gwen, reaching across the table for the syrup, asks, "Who was Routh going to play?"

"Bran, the main character."

"They can't get someone else to play him?" Merlin asks.

"They're trying, but recasting always takes so long. It might be another month before they want us back."

"What sort of character is he?" Gwen queries.

"You know, he's one of those rough-and-tumble, save the world kind of guys. The hero. A bit spoiled at first, but he comes into his own throughout the film," Lance answers.

He pauses, staring down with a glower for a moment, before his brow clears and he lifts his gaze to Arthur. Merlin catches the look and quickly drops his eyes. He can see exactly how this is going to turn out.

"Arthur," Lance begins, clearing his throat, "what are you up to this summer?"

"Not much. I think I've got a break before my next movie shoots, right, Merlin?"

Merlin nods and mumbles through a mouthful of pancake, "That's right. A summer-long break."

Morgana can't stop the frown that comes to her lips as she realizes where this is headed.

His eyes twinkling, Lance asks, "How would you like to film a movie in Poland this summer, Arthur?"

"Poland?" the blonde parrots. "I thought you were in France at some castle."

"No. Poland. In the forest. But listen, I think you'd really be great for this part. I'll let you read my script, and if you're interested, I'll get Merlin the info on who to contact."

Arthur frowns contemplatively, chewing on a slice of bacon. "What sort of movie is it?"

"Historical action drama. You'd be playing Bran, the protagonist who protects his village from the invading Normans."

"Do we win?"

"Of course."

Seeing that Arthur is still on the fence about the idea and Lance so enthusiastic, Merlin can't help but give his employer the extra push he needs. After all, it _is_ his job. Quietly, he adds, "You'd get to swordfight."

Arthur sits up straight, suddenly interested. "Swordfight, you say? Well, why didn't I sign up for this movie in the first place? Merlin, do whatever it takes to get me this part. I haven't tested out my sword fighting skills in too long."

Merlin nods. "Sure. Right after breakfast."

Sitting back in his chair with a grin, Arthur shovels another forkful of pancake into his mouth. Merlin sips his juice and takes a look around. Lance seems pleased that he won't be wasting his summer, and Gwen wears her usual cheery smile.

Merlin sets down his glass heavily. He's always willing – happy, even – to do his job, and he does mean to get in touch with the right people as soon as he finishes eating, but he had planned on spending the summer here in England, simply relaxing and hanging out with Morgana and Gwen. He hasn't seen them for four months, and the thought of not being around for another few sends a tinge of sadness through him.

A mobile lying on the counter rings, disrupting the quiet, easy atmosphere, and Morgana jumps up from her seat to answer it.

"Aglain, hi," she greets before disappearing through the doorway.

Merlin's eyes follow her as she strolls away, and he loses himself in thought as she turns the corner.

"Merlin! _Mer_-lin!"

Arthur's voice calls him back from his daydreaming. Looking around dazedly, he mumbles, "Wha-what?"

His friends laugh, and Lance, who knows the reason for his distraction, has a sparkle in his eye.

"Come on, head in the game, Merlin," Arthur tells him with a roll of his eyes. "Now, Father wants me to drive up to Launceston for the day to meet with some artist. He's buying something, or commissioning something, or something." He shakes his head to clear himself of confusion before saying, "Anyways, Gwen and Lance are tagging along, and we're going to make a day of it. Are you in or not?"

* * *

Gwen laughs as Merlin flops down face-first onto her bed.

"What's the matter?" she asks kindly, folding up a t-shirt and placing it into her open suitcase.

He rolls over onto his back with a groan and stares listlessly at the plain white ceiling. "It's this stupid movie. Arthur's meeting with the director and producer this weekend, and if he gets the part, we're going to spend the next four months in Poland."

"And?"

"And I haven't properly hung out with . . . you since February. You're my best friend. I don't want to wait until September to hold an actual conversation with you."

"Merlin," Gwen chuckles, "there are these things called 'mobiles,' which people use to communicate. Also, a little invention known as 'the computer,' which has e-mail and instant messaging and even video chat. We made it through Arthur's little trip to California, didn't we? Trust me, we'll be fine."

"It's not the same," he frowns. "It's just . . . I thought we'd get to spend the summer together, that's all."

She glances over at him, her heart tingling with empathy. After all, she's going to be away from Arthur for months, and she can testify that it's a wretched feeling to miss someone you love.

"This is about Morgana," she says matter-of-factly.

A smile coming to his face, Merlin shakes his head. Leave it to Gwen to make him talk about what he really doesn't want to talk about, but maybe needs to. "Maybe," he admits.

"When are you going to tell her?"

"When?" he repeats with a short laugh. "I will tell her how I feel when pigs fly, and the sun begins to revolve around the earth, and rivers reverse their course."

"Merlin."

Her tone makes him take notice and sit up. When he does, he finally notices the suitcase lying open on the window seat.

"You're leaving?" he queries hurriedly. "Why are you packing? Where are you going?"

Gwen places another shirt into the suitcase with a sigh before walking over to the bed and sitting next to him. "Do you really think it's so impossible?" she asks.

"Where are you going?" he repeats, suddenly anxious.

Rolling her eyes, she explains, "You know Aglain's been trying to get Morgana to take a trip for a while now, right?" Off his nod, she continues, "Well, she's been invited to Spain. And since you and Arthur will be in Poland for the summer, she figured that this would be a good a time as any."

Merlin blinks dumbly as he takes it in. "Wait. What do you mean she's been invited? By whom? Where?"

"Zach Sherwood, to his villa."

"Zach Sherwood the author?"

"Yeah, he's invited a few other authors. It's supposed to be some sort of writers' community. They're all going to just hang out and work on new material. Aglain thinks it'll help Morgana get started on her next book. Now, why haven't you told her how you feel yet?"

His lips contorted into a thoughtful expression, Merlin confesses, "Because it's Morgana."

Gwen chuckles as she stands to resume packing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Gwen, look at me. I'm a bumbling personal assistant to an actor. She's talented and ridiculously beautiful, and . . . way out of my league."

Folding up a pair of jeans, she smiles at him. "Honestly, Merlin, you sell yourself short. And isn't how she feels more important than what everyone else says?"

He looks up hopefully and asks, "Do you think she feels the same?"

"All I'm saying is," Gwen says, still smiling, "_talk_ to her. We're going to be across a continent from you for the entire summer. She deserves to know how you feel before we all leave."

* * *

A beer bottle in each hand, Merlin trudges quietly through the gardens and across the lawn toward the shore at the bottom of the hill. Morgana sits on the rocks, her knees pulled up to her chest, her head tilted as she contemplates the gentle waves.

Still yards away, he pauses to admire her in the fading sunlight.

A smile comes to his lips as he falls softly onto a rock beside her.

"You're missing your own going away," he says. Offering her a bottle, he adds, "I brought you some of that rare foreign beer you hate so much."

She chuckles softly, and takes a few sips in silence. "Thank you," she finally murmurs, closing her eyes in contentment.

He takes a gulp of beer, picks at the pebbles as he works up his courage. Now or never. She's leaving on the early flight, and he won't get another chance like this for at least three months.

"Do you ever wish you could just capture a moment?" Morgana asks breathlessly.

"Isn't that what cameras are for?"

"I suppose," she shrugs, "but they can't really capture its _essence_, you know? You can look at a photo a year later and it won't help you remember what you were _feeling_ at the time."

"So, capturing everything about that moment, wrapping it up so you could revisit it whenever you wanted to . . ."

"Exactly."

"If you _could_ do that," he begins nervously, licking his lips, "what moment would you choose?"

Frowning thoughtfully, she takes another sip of beer. He can't help but notice – and adore – the crease that forms in her brow as she contemplates her answer.

A mysterious smile appears on her lips, and she asks, "Remember Gwen's birthday party earlier this year?"

"Yeah," he nods.

The details escape her, but she can vividly recall the intensity of her affection for her friends. It was just before Arthur and Merlin had left for California, and the five of them had felt on top of the world – young and full of dreams and ready to take on anything.

Morgana, leaning her head against his shoulder, says, "That was a perfect night."

He brings a hand up around her back, hesitates, and then curls a lock of her wavy hair around his finger. "It was," he agrees, feeling his courage waver again.

He closes his eyes, breathes in deeply.

This, being here with her, sitting on the shore and watching the sunset, is complete contentment.

Their friendship – moments like this one – means more to him than anything in the world, even more than his friendship with Arthur. He doesn't want to shake that up, not the night before she leaves. She doesn't deserve a shock like that on the eve of a major life change.

After all, it's only a few months. He can wait until September, wait until they're all back in Cawsand and things settle down. Then, _then_ he can confess his feelings.

"And this?" he asks quietly, opening his eyes in time to see the sun settle on the horizon.

"Mm-hmm," she nods, her voice sleepy and satisfied, "this is perfect, too."

Grinning, he touches his arm to her waist. She leans into the touch, utterly at ease beside him. Maybe their lives are complicated right now, maybe she's not brave enough to confess how she feels, but the one thing she can always rely upon is his friendship, the comfortable affection he stirs within her.

* * *

The boys (minus Lance, who said his goodbye last night and is currently sleeping in) see them off, the scene full of long hugs and heavy hearts. There's not a lot to be said, and before he knows it, Merlin's standing on the steps of the manor house, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans as the taxi pulls away. When it reaches the end of the drive, Morgana leans out of the window and gives him a final wave.

Plastering a smile on his face, he returns the gesture and watches until the cab has disappeared down the road.

He lets out a heavy sigh. Maybe he was wrong to let her go without a word about his heart. He hates going back-and-forth on this so often, hates that she can make what they have feel so good when they're together, and so inadequate when they're apart. Now, it seems as though he's lost his chance again, let her slip right through his fingers. Even if Gwen was right, and she _does_ have feelings for him, the chances are slim to none that she'll wait for him.

Not all summer.

Not when she's surrounded by admirers and fellow authors, people who really get her and can support her creatively.

The thought depresses him more than he's willing to admit, so he shuffles back into the house.

Arthur, still in his pajamas, is stretched out on the couch, a pillow nestled under his head. Hearing Merlin come in, he says, "Too early. Going back to sleep. Wake me up if Darren calls."

"Right," Merlin mumbles before heading on through to the kitchen.

He's not in the mood for cooking anything right now, so he grabs a bowl from the cabinet, a box of cereal from the pantry, and the milk from the fridge. He clambers into a seat and makes it through three bowls before letting his head drop onto his arms on top of the table, which is how Arthur finds him when he walks in an hour later.

"Come on, Merlin," he says, clapping him on the shoulder, "it's just the summer. Not the end of the world."

"That's easy for you to say," Merlin replies. "You and Gwen are in a relationship. She's not going to meet some writer, or some mysterious, handsome Spanish guy and throw you away for him."

Arthur blanches as he slides onto a seat opposite his friend. He hadn't really stopped to think about the temptations Gwen would encounter in a country like Spain – living in some man's private villa, no less! He tries to remember how many times he's told her he loves her recently, how many little things he's done to show he appreciates her.

What if she doesn't know?

What if she takes up with some Spaniard with a sexy accent and a beautiful, thick mustache?

Maybe _he_ should grow a mustache . . .

"Merlin," he groans, running a hand through his unkempt hair, "we never should have let them go!"

"So you think we were wrong?"

"How could we have been so _stupid_? We should have invited them to Poland with us. Morgana can do the same thing there as she's doing in Spain, and we'd all be together!"

Merlin holds his hands open questioningly as he asks, "So what do we do?"

Arthur grins. "We get them back."

* * *

It doesn't happen like they plan.

It doesn't happen like the movies have led them to believe it does.

Merlin knows he shouldn't be disappointed, but Arthur had made a movie that featured a similar situation. And his character had beaten the clock, raced into the terminal in the nick of time, gotten the girl.

But when he and Arthur try it, though, _nothing_ goes right.

Even though they take Arthur's fastest sports car, they get stuck behind a tractor going 30 kph for nearly 15 kilometers. Then they try to leave the car in the drop-off lane, but a police officer sees them and tries to give them a ticket. He's unsympathetic when Merlin explains hastily about their girlfriends (he uses the term quite loosely). So they're forced to park, but there are no spaces until the back of the lot, and by the time they get inside the airport, the girls' plane to Barcelona has already boarded.

Arthur pulls the 'famous' card in an attempt to get on board and convince the girls to come back with them before the plane takes off, but the airport staff are like brick walls. Two don't even know who he is. They look old enough to be his great-grandmothers, and the sprightlier one even tackles Arthur when he tries to race past them and onto the plane.

Merlin's too shocked to stop the other one from calling security.

Which is how they end up in the custody of airport security.

Lance is the one to bail them out, howling with laughter the entire time.

"As glad as I am that you have come to your senses about your feelings," he tells the two, "let this be a lesson. When it comes to women like Morgana and Gwen, never presume to think that you know what's best for them."

* * *

The atmosphere in the plane is overwhelmingly lonely. It's still early in the morning, and first class is quiet, most of its occupants slumbering peacefully or engrossed in their choice reading material.

But Morgana finds it hard to concentrate on the novel she's brought along (it's Dickens, which requires one to _pay attention_, and she simply can't), and, ever since the pilot announced that mobiles could be turned back on and used, Gwen hasn't detached herself from hers.

Morgana finds it hard to believe that Arthur hadn't gone back to sleep as soon as he saw them off, but he's always been a bit surprising when it comes to Gwen. It's not that she minds being ignored for a text-message conversation really; she's not that particularly inclined to talk to anyone at the moment anyways.

She leans back with a heavy sigh. She's happy for her brother. Working with Lance will be fun for him. But when she'd pictured this summer, she hadn't imagined that her boys would practically be on the opposite side of Europe.

Maybe it's good.

No Arthur will mean no crazy antics, and fewer distractions will hopefully prove more productive. She can't deny the enticement of Zach's offer. She's known him and a few of the other writers he's invited for about a year now. If anyone can give her worthwhile critique on her new work, it's them.

And there is the unignorable fact that she and Gwen will get to spend the entire summer, rent free, in a private villa in Spain.

But no Arthur also means no Merlin.

She doesn't often regret things, but the fact that she's let them slip into this transcontinental state without telling him how she feels is a glaring regret that she can't rid herself of. She's always prided herself on being strong, confident, independent, and yet when it comes to him she's a coward.

She can't stop thinking about Lance's question from last week: _What is she so afraid of?_

She can already tell how Arthur would react. Like he's done countless times in the past, whenever she's complained about her lying, cheating boyfriends, he'd blame her rotten taste in men on her abandonment issues.

But Merlin isn't rotten. He's not a liar or a cheater. And maybe that's what scares her – not the possibility that he won't want her, but the possibility that he's too good for her.

Abandoning Dickens, she roots through her backpack for the magazines she's brought. Maybe the light reading will distract her. But then, nestled between _National Geographic Travel _and _The Chaucer Review_, she finds a tabloid that she can't recall putting in there.

A glance at the cover gives her an idea how it got in her bag, and she lets out a soft chuckle at the picture of her brother on the beach in his swim trunks.

The caption reads, "Is Britain's hottest superstar getting _fat_? Story on page 12."

Amused, she flips to the article and finds a sticky note pasted over Arthur's face. Merlin's wiry scrawl is immediately recognizable.

It reads: _I thought you'd get a laugh out of this. I've had to hide all the copies in Cawsand from Arthur. I wonder how they feel about him in Poland . . . Lance and I will have a hard job pretending they don't have cake (ciasto), ice cream (lody), chocolate (czekolady – see, I'm learning!), or other sweets over there. Enjoy the flight (don't let Gwen have the window seat, and if she gets nauseated, I've put some Dramamine in her carry-on), and let us know when you've landed. Send pictures! – M_

Morgana smiles, touched by his thoughtfulness.

It's only a few months, right? And they've got phones, e-mail, letters. They'll talk every day and she'll work on her book and the time will go by in a flash. Before she even knows it, they'll all be back in England, and Merlin will _know_.

* * *

Soft afternoon sunlight streams into her new bedroom, and Morgana feels a delirious wave of delight rush through her as she collapses onto the bed, the light hitting her full in the face.

The villa is gorgeous, a dream come true, and she can already tell that she'll get along well with everyone. Even as she lies here, she feels a creative stirring within herself. Maybe the simple change of view has been enough to clear her writer's block.

Her eyes closed, she lets out a gentle sigh and twirls a stray lock of hair around her finger. The sweet aroma of rice and roasted peppers drifts in through the open door, filling her lungs with each breath.

She could stay here forever.

She almost does, but Gwen bounds into her room, a bundle of energy, and bounces onto the bed.

"Get up! Zach's making dinner, and you're not even unpacked!"

"What's wrong with you?" Morgana laughs as she sits up.

"This place is _amazing_!"

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather be with Arthur?"

Gwen shrugs. "We have lots of time to be together, but how many times am I going to get to experience the Spanish countryside with one of my best friends?" With a smile and another burst of energy, she leaps off the bed and skips toward the door. "But you can't come to supper until you've unpacked, so get to it!"

Morgana, still chuckling as Gwen disappears, rises and walks around the bed to begin unpacking. She unzips her smaller suitcase, flips the top open, and pauses when she caches sight of the wrapped corner of a square packing, sticking out from beneath a wrinkled t–shirt. Curious, she pulls it out and gently tears open the wrapping.

Her breath catches in her throat.

It's a wooden photo frame, and staring out at her are the smiling faces of herself and Merlin. She recognizes the setting as Gwen's birthday party this past winter; Merlin's arm is around her waist and her head is settled on his shoulder.

They look carefree, and inordinately happy.

The image is so real that she can almost imagine it moving, but she chalks it up to her imagination and the way that night is imprinted on her heart. But as she stares at it, she realizes that it's not simply a trick of the light. The picture really is moving.

Morgana laughs out loud. It's just like Merlin to steal a trick from _Harry Potter_ in order to put a smile on her face.

Setting the frame down on the bedside table, she retrieves her mobile from her backpack. It's been off all day, since before she'd boarded the plane, and once she powers it up, she realizes just how much she's missed.

_Six missed calls._

_28 new text messages._

Who knew going off-grid for a day could wreak so much havoc on one's social schedule?

The calls are from Aglain, Arthur, Lance, and Uther, but all the texts are from Merlin.

_Are you in the air?_

_How's the food?_

_Is there an in-flight movie to watch?_

_Did you get the mag I slipped in your bag?_

_Did they give you one of those little packages of peanuts?_

_Send us some pictures! Arthur and I want to live vicariously._

Morgana sits down lightly on the edge of her mattress, a soft smile on her lips. Yes, she's going to miss his incessant chatter, his kindness, his messy hair, his piercing blue gaze.

An entire continent separates them, but perhaps that doesn't mean she has to let it come between them.

Tapping the keys of her mobile, she sends a single text to answer all of his:

_I stayed for you._


	3. My Heart's Calling For You

A/N: Tremendous thanks to **wickedinsanity **for beta-ing this! :) Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I hope you enjoy this last chapter.

* * *

"Bloody hell!"

Arthur growls as he slows the car down.

It jerks to a stop in the middle of a country road, sprawling green hills on either side . . . and a herd of cows right in the middle of it.

They've made it over halfway through Germany, and they're nearing the French border, but now they can go no farther because of a herd of bloody cows.

Merlin grinds his teeth in frustration as Arthur hops out angrily.

Seven weeks is a long time to go without seeing your best friends, and, although he's talked to either Morgana or Gwen every day since they split between Poland and Spain, he still feels as though he's missing a big chunk of himself without them, without Morgana especially.

That text – that _text_ she had sent him.

He can't stop thinking about it, even pulls it up just to look at it on his phone every now and again.

_I stayed for you._

And he had left.

What was he _thinking_? Arthur's fond of telling him so, usually for a different reason, but he must truly be the world's biggest idiot.

The problem, he's sure, is the timing. If this movie hadn't come up, if the security guards had let them onto the plane instead of trying to tackle them, if she had told him a day earlier . . . There are a thousand 'if's that run through his mind day and night.

But this movie will be good for Arthur's career, and the young actor is having a blast costarring with his best friend, Lance. The two of them have spent the past month twirling swords and slinging arrows in the middle of the Białowieża National Forest, and exploring the country in their scant off-time.

Even so, Merlin can tell that Arthur's been feeling the distance from Gwen.

That, coupled with his own desire to see Morgana, is why they are currently attempting to drive from Białystok, Poland to a countryside villa somewhere outside of Barcelona, Spain. Once Darren, the director, had given them the green light for a week off, they'd grabbed a few bags of snacks, hopped into Arthur's blue Focus, and taken off before anyone could stop them.

With a sigh, Merlin drags himself out of the passenger's seat and, arms crossed over his chest, strolls toward the nearest cow.

"Maybe we could try to go around?" he suggests, but even as he says it, he can see it's an impossibility.

The terrain's too uneven, the slope of the hills too steep, and besides, there are too many damn cows.

"Yes, Merlin," Arthur spits in the tone he reserves for when he's particularly irritated but can find no one on whom to place the blame, "that'd be a brilliant plan, if only there weren't a thousand cows lining the hillsides!"

Suddenly, he jumps up onto the car hood and waves his arms.

"Hey!" he shouts. "Get out of our way! We want to see our girlfriends!"

A lone cow turns her head and lows mournfully at him.

Merlin stews, biting his lip and stroking his chin as he walks in circles. Arthur sinks onto his haunches, head in his hands.

After taking a deep breath, he looks up and asks, "Remind me why we decided to _drive_ to Spain. Whose brilliant idea was _that_?"

A smile tugging at his lips despite the situation, Merlin shakes his head. "Yours. It was impossible to even get a flight because of the EA Championships, but you insisted on coming. You said, and I quote, 'I won't get so much as a day off until September, so there's no way in hell that I'm passing up this opportunity.'" He grins. "Remember now?"

"So it was _my_ idea to spend over a day in a cramped car with you? I don't remember that," Arthur says with a laugh.

"Of course you wouldn't," Merlin replies as he walks over and sits next to him on the hood.

Frowning, Arthur lets his shoulders slump. "All I wanted to do was surprise her."

"And you still will," Merlin assures him. "We'll surprise both of them. We'll just do it a little later than we anticipated, that's all. And maybe we can even bring them some fertilizer. Morgana says they've got a garden. They could probably use some extra cow dung."

Arthur, a smirk on his face, smacks his assistant on the back of the head. There's such a thing as too much cheek, after all.

* * *

"Morgana!"

The brunette whirls around at the sound of her name, an apple in one hand and a bag of the fruit in the other, and smiles absently at her friend.

"Everything all right?" Gwen asks. "You've been staring at that apple for two minutes now."

"Have I?" Morgana asks nonchalantly, shaking her head and tossing the apple into the bag with its fellows. "Just daydreaming, I suppose."

Gwen's dark eyes dance with mirth as she prompts, "About Merlin?"

Rolling her eyes, Morgana turns away from the produce section. "Don't be silly. I was thinking about what else we'd need for supper tonight."

"Oh, of course," Gwen chuckles, following her down the grocery aisle.

Morgana, trailing a hand along the shelf, asks casually, "Have you, um, have you heard from Arthur?"

"Not for a couple days now. Why?"

"Just wondering," Morgana shrugs.

They stop in front of the juice, and Gwen stares at the selection contemplatively, her lips twisted in thought. After a moment, she says, "It's weird, though, isn't it? We usually talk to them everyday, and they haven't called since Tuesday."

"Have you tried calling?"

Gwen nods. "He hasn't been answering. What about Merlin?"

"I don't even think his is on. He probably forgot to charge it again."

Chuckling, Gwen adds a carton of orange juice to their basket and says, "They're probably just too caught up in the Championships."

Morgana shakes her head, a smile gracing her lips. "What are we going to do with those two?"

* * *

When Arthur walks into the motel room, the first thing he notices is the single bed with a quilt the color of pickles.

He hates pickles.

Even beyond that, it's not the homiest of places he's stayed in. The window needs to be washed, the curtains are frayed, and the carpet could do with a thorough scrub.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," he says with a grimace.

At the comment, Merlin drops their bags and looks up. "Well, what did you want me to do?" he protests. "Everyone's booked because of the games, and they only had single rooms left. It was this or sleeping in the car."

"And you actually picked this over the car?"

"Oh, come on," Merlin laughs. "It's not that bad. Besides, it's one night. In a few hours, we'll be back on the road."

Arthur, his fists on his hips and his lips pursed moodily, sighs. He's right. It's nearly two in the morning, and if they get an early enough start, they can make it to their destination by noon. Which means that if he can suck it up and catch a few hours of sleep, he'll be with Gwen in no time at all.

"Fine," he grumbles as he flops down on the bed.

"Hey, wait," Merlin protests, his arms open in confusion. "Who says you get the bed?"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Well, I'm not going to sleep on the floor now, am I?"

Merlin considers arguing, even drafts the beginning of his objections in his head, but one look at Arthur's smug face gives him pause. The last time they had to sleep in the same room, he was kept awake most of the night by his employer's deafening snores.

"I'll be in the car," he says with resignation as he shoulders his bag again. On the way out, he tosses Arthur his mobile. "Can you charge this up for me, though?"

"What, are you going through withdrawal because you haven't talked to Morgana in the past six hours?" Arthur smirks.

Merlin shakes his head. "Hey, I'm not the one who sulks when she doesn't answer my text within five minutes. And at least I didn't lose _my_ mobile running after the ice cream truck."

Arthur throws a pillow in his direction, and Merlin, laughing, ducks out the door.

* * *

"Morgana! You're missing it!"

"Coming!" Morgana calls from the kitchen as she grabs a six pack from the fridge and picks up a plate of wings from the counter.

She's halfway back to the living room, where everyone's watching the Championships, when the doorbell rings. No one else hears it over the noise of the TV and the cheering, so Morgana sets down her burden on the coffee table and heads to the front door.

Her jaw nearly drops to the floor when she sees her brother standing in front of her, a broad grin on his face.

"Miss me?" he asks, laughing at the look on her face.

Morgana lets out a laugh and launches herself at him with enough force to spin them around. Hardly daring to believe he's really here, standing in front of her in the flesh, she pulls back to look at him and gives him a gentle shove on the shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asks with a grin.

Arthur shrugs. "I got a few days off, and we decided to come visit."

"'We'?" she queries, lifting herself onto her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder as she tries to pretend that her heart isn't racing.

"Yeah," he confirms, brushing past her into the house, "I came straight here, but Merlin stopped off in the village for something or other. He'll be along as soon as he catches a cab, I'm sure."

"Arthur," Morgana drawls, because, once again, her brother doesn't exactly think things through.

The village is over a mile out, and with the games on, there won't be a ride available in the city for Merlin to catch.

She sighs, then asks, "Well, when's he coming? Does he know how to get here?"

"How should I know?"

She scoffs lightly, and he disappears into the house. Turning, she jogs down the front steps before hopping onto her Vespa and peeling out of the driveway and onto the dirt road that leads to the village. She's over a half-mile out, wind blowing through her loose, wavy hair and thoughts racing through her mind, when she passes a hiker on the side of the road.

Because there's never much traffic on this path, the unexpected sight makes her do a double-take. But it's not until she's already passed him that she recognizes that mop of black hair, that awkward gait.

"Merlin!"

Jamming on the brake, she spins the scooter around violently enough to set the tires squealing and send a spray of dirt flying up behind her. She abandons the bike, letting it fall on its side, and races toward him.

"Merlin!" she repeats, her grin widening with each step.

He turns at the sound of her voice, but before he gets a chance to greet her properly, she's launched herself at him, arms around his neck, legs wrapped around his lanky torso.

As surprised as he is by her sudden appearance, he loses himself in her embrace and squeezes her tight, doing his best to not crush the bundle of tulips in his fist. After a day-and-a-half on the road, and seven weeks of waiting, he can hardly believe this is happening. Just the sound of her laughter in his ear is enough to make him question the reality of this scene. Inhaling deeply, he breathes her in, breathes in the lazy scent of summertime, the orange trees in the air.

He sets her down, the soles of her Converses lightly touching the dirt path, and she pulls back to regard him with a toothy smile.

Tousling his hair, she says, "You got a haircut!"

He shrugs, scratching behind his ear nervously. "Well, it was getting a bit shaggy."

"Well, I like it," she declares happily. "It brings out your ears, and you know how much I like your ears."

"Yeah, you're the only one who likes these ears," he laughs before offering her the flowers.

He'd purchased them this morning, in a tiny floral shop in the middle of the village, just across from their inn. The old woman who owned the store hadn't understood a word of English, so he'd just pointed idiotically at some daffodils, and she had smiled and given him a full bouquet of red and yellow tulips instead. Unable to make her understand, or give him anything other than tulips, he'd simply given up and hoped that she liked tulips.

"These are gorgeous," she breathes, accepting the bundle and holding them up to her nose. "And they smell lovely. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Taking his hand, she leads him over to the hill alongside the road, sits down in the grass, and pulls him down beside her.

"I've missed you, you know," she tells him happily.

"We've talked nearly every day since you left," he protests with a smile.

"I know," she replies, lying back in the grass and closing her eyes to bask in the afternoon sunlight. Lazily, she says, "You haven't called lately. I guess now we know why."

Merlin follows her lead, lying on his back and turning his head to gaze at her. Even in just his plaid shorts, _Star Wars_ t-shirt, and flip flops, he feels like he's baking in the sultry Spanish sun. Morgana, though, looks perfectly content, her hair spread out in waves around her head. Hesitantly, he lifts a hand and curls a strand around his finger.

"You know," he muses, "if I could capture one moment, I would pick this one."

"Really?" she asks, an eyebrow raised as she turns her head to look at him.

"Yeah. Definitely this one."

Morgana slides a hand to his face, brushes her thumb across his cheekbone. She still can't believe he's beside her. She can't believe she's waited this long.

She's missed him, missed his stupid jokes, missed staying up all night with him talking about nothing, missed waking up to the smell of him cooking breakfast. She's missed that, and she wants to tell him, but everything she wants to say is sliding around her brain and getting lost on its way to her tongue.

So instead she leans forward and brushes her lips over his.

Merlin feels as if he's falling through the sky as soon as she kisses him. He loses his breath, loses the ground beneath him, loses everything but the taste of beer and strawberry.

"Because it's kind of perfect?" she murmurs languidly as they break apart and she threads her fingers into his hair.

"More than kind of," he chuckles softly.

She smiles widely at him, thumbing his bottom lip and staring into his clear blue eyes. Merlin wants to ask her to come back with them, wants to tell her that she's been in his heart ever since the third day after they met. A thousand thoughts and declarations and possibilities are waiting to trip off his tongue, but the rational part of his brain tells him to savor this moment, to not ruin it with his usual incessant rambling.

So he says quietly, "You're beautiful, even more beautiful than I remember."

And Morgana, unused to the airy, fuzzy feeling he provokes in her heart, simply smiles and kisses him again.

* * *

They lie there for hours, talking occasionally, more often just soaking up the sun's rays and soaking up the other's presence. Before long, the sun is dipping down over the horizon, sending sprays of orange and pink across the sky.

Morgana stands and tugs on his hands, pulling him to his feet.

"Come on. I'll introduce you to the boys."

"'Boys'?" he echoes, tripping to his feet and following her over to her scooter. "I didn't know they were all guys. Why did I not get that impression?"

Shrugging, she jokes, "Um, I dunno. Maybe you were never _listening_ when I told you about them."

"Maybe you just left out the important detail that you and Gwen are living in a house full of men the entire summer. Wait. Wait a minute. What about Jordan? She's not a girl?"

Morgana snorts with laughter. "Do you listen to anything I say?"

"Well, of course I do! But you could have told me that your five housemates are all male."

She turns to level a teasing, challenging gaze at him. "What's the matter, Merlin? Are you . . . jealous?"

Catching the smirk in her voice, he leans forward. "Insanely," he says with a smile, "and I readily admit to it."

"That's brave of you, to admit jealousy after just one kiss."

"It was two," he laughs, "and besides, I've adored you since the third day we met, and you had to have realized already."

They continue their meander down the path, their linked hands swinging between them.

"The third?" Morgana queries jovially. "It took you that long?"

He grins. "Why?"

Morgana hesitates. She thinks of the first day they met, when she'd been fascinated by the striking contrast between his understated appearance and the knowledge that shone through those brilliant blue eyes.

"Nothing," she shrugs, unable to banish the smile from her lips.

Her Vespa still lies abandoned on the side of the road, and she leans over to right it. Merlin lends a hand, and as soon as it's sitting on its two wheels again, she slides smoothly onto the leather seat.

Suddenly understanding, he backs away and says, "Whoa. Hold on. You want me to get on that thing?"

Morgana laughs. "What's the problem? It's just a scooter."

"No," he protests, shaking his head adamantly, "I only ride things with four wheels or more."

"Don't be such a baby," she teases as she tosses him her bright red helmet.

"You're joking, right?"

"Absolutely not. Get on here or walk back." Seeing the reluctance still etched into his face, she reaches out a hand and tells him, "Hey. We're only three-quarters of a mile out. I won't crash. Promise."

"You'll forgive me if your earlier one-eighty and your consequent abandonment of said scooter don't exactly inspire confidence in the very person you're trying to talk into getting on the back of that thing."

"I'm a much safer driver when I've got passengers," she smirks, pulling him onto the seat behind her.

He settles on uncomfortably, wraps his arms around her waist and holds on tightly.

"Could you at least go slowly?" he asks, but she jams on the gas, and his words are lost beneath the whine of the engine and the rush of wind in her ears.

* * *

By the time they return to the villa, the crew has relocated from the living room to the back yard, where Zach has set up a projector and a sheet so they can still follow the games even as they hold barbecues and bonfires.

Flames are blazing in the fire pit as Morgana and Merlin walk hand-in-hand out of the house and onto the lawn.

Despite the warmth of the summer night, Arthur and Gwen are cuddling together on a log near the fire and roasting marshmallows. Her five housemates and their significant others are scattered around the yard, some clustered around the fire, some preoccupied with the javelin event projected on the screen, one refilling the cooler.

"Hey, everyone," she greets as they walk up to the fire.

"Morgana!" Zach greets enthusiastically, standing up to shake Merlin's hand. "Hey, I'm Zach. How are you?"

"Good," Merlin says, taken aback by his amiability.

"Zach, this is Merlin, my . . ." Morgana trails off and looks to Merlin for help before settling on, "He's my guy."

Not even Arthur's teasing can wipe the silly grin off Merlin's face.

* * *

Morgana stumbles down the dark hallway, praying that none of the guys will wake suddenly and peer out their doors to find her in just boy shorts and Merlin's Yoda t-shirt. It wouldn't be such a problem if Merlin weren't Merlin, but he's so lanky and thin that the t-shirt is barely bigger than the ones she owns and wears on a regular basis.

So, not wanting to get caught and teased, she tiptoes down the corridor. But when she reaches the kitchen and opens the freezer, she finds a hole in between the chicken fingers and the pizza bites where her carton of moose tracks ice cream should be.

Frowning, she spins around and catches the flickering light of the TV from the living room. Quietly, she shuffles through to the living room and peers in.

"Arthur!" she whispers, surprised.

Her brother, sitting on the couch and watching TV, looks up, a spoon of ice cream halfway to his mouth.

"You've stolen my ice cream," she accuses as she crosses her arms and plops down beside him on the couch.

He lifts the spoon toward her mouth. "Well, here. You can have it back."

She pushes him away with a chuckle. "Go away, you prat. Why are you awake? What are you even watching?"

"_Anatomía de Grey_. You know, it's not my fault anyways. Apparently don't even have ice cream in Poland."

Morgana lets out a soft snort, both at the TV program and because she knows exactly who is keeping Arthur away from the Polish ice cream. "You're kidding me, right? You're watching _Grey's Anatomy_ in Spanish?"

"Yes. Now _shh_. I think Meredith and Derek may break up. Again."

"If only your devoted fans knew what you were really like," she teases.

"Speaking of fans," he begins, his mouth twisted in annoyance, "I got asked the other day if I was your brother. Can you imagine that? Someone not knowing me, but knowing _you_!"

She shakes her head, grinning. "You're never going to change, are you, Arthur?"

"I read your book. How's that for change?"

Morgana turns to regard him in wonder. "All right. Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"I'm serious," he insists through a mouthful of ice cream. "And I'm flattered that you wrote an entire character based on me."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You know. Bradley – the ruggedly handsome, athletic, popular one. The rough-and-tumble save the world kinda guy."

"Oh, Arthur," she laughs, "sometimes I wonder what's going on in that pretty little head of yours."

"Well, since you've asked –"

"Oh, no."

"- I _was_ thinking . . . Have you thought about turning this into a screenplay?"

"Let me guess – you'd play Bradley?"

He opens his mouth to reply, but Merlin steps into the room, clad in only boxers, lazily trying to tame his bed head.

"I didn't realize how long it took to get some ice cream," he mumbles playfully, falling down onto a cushion next to Morgana and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Ug," Arthur grimaces, "you two disgust me. Will you go put some clothes on please?"

Morgana rolls her eyes, runs a hand affectionately through Merlin's hair, and settles down to watch some late-night _Anatomía de Grey_.

* * *

Merlin breathes in the heady scent of citrus in the air as he lets the sun wash over him. The bistro they're breakfasting at is small and cozy, perfect for a lazy mid-morning meal. From his seat, he can perfectly observe the villagers as they walk down the street and greet friends, but he's much more interested in the woman sitting across from him.

"I may not know how to cook that well," she's saying, "but you can't knock my talent for finding great restaurants."

"No," he laughs, "this place is fantastic."

"I'm glad you like it," Morgana smiles.

She marvels at how simple this is, how effortless this is turning out to be. Gazing at him across the table, his messy hair illuminated in the bright morning sunlight, his piercing eyes hidden beneath a pair of aviators, she realizes how ridiculous it was for her to be so scared. Nothing's changed, really. He still tells stupid jokes, still forgets to charge his mobile, still would rather spend his time in a bookstore than anywhere else.

She just gets to kiss him now.

Her smile growing, she adds, "I didn't want you to have to make pancakes for everyone for the fourth day in a row, especially when you're leaving tomorrow."

He lets out a sigh.

_Tomorrow_.

The past few days have been extraordinary, so much so that he'd started to believe this would never end, that he'd let himself forget he and Arthur would be due back in Poland at the beginning of the week.

He nods absently, poking his fork at the French toast on his plate and trying to work up the courage to ask her.

Noticing his distraction, she quirks a brow at him and curls her fingers over his.

"Hey," she murmurs, "what's the matter?"

Before he can answer, they're interrupted by a short, old Spanish woman, her white hair pulled back in a bun. Merlin looks up and recognizes the owner of the flower shop a few streets down. Beaming widely, she pinches him on the cheek and starts chattering away in Spanish. These days his Polish skills, though still rather poor, are much better than his Spanish ones. Not knowing a word of the language beyond 'baño' and 'cerveza,' he doesn't understand a syllable of this woman's mile-a-minute speech.

Luckily Morgana has more of a head for the language.

She's grinning and laughing and shaking her head, and she leans in conspiratorially to reply.

The woman glances at him and nods knowingly, and Merlin's pale cheeks erupt in a blush. When she finally leaves, he bids her a feeble 'adios' and buries his face in his hands.

"What," he groans, "were you two talking about?"

"I was thanking her for the beautiful flowers," Morgana chuckles.

He picks his head up. "And what did she say?"

Her eyes sparkling, she replies, "She said you were very handsome, and that I was lucky to have such a considerate young fellow, but that there was no rush."

"No rush for what?"

"Marriage."

Merlin spurts out a mouthful of orange juice. "Oh, I'm so sorry," he mumbles, sopping up the mess with a napkin.

Morgana pretends to ignore him, and tries hard to fight the smile coming to her lips. "Oh! And she wanted to know if the flowers had gotten you laid."

"Oh, my God," Merlin croaks, head in hands again. "And you told her, didn't you? Of course you did. Of course."

"Relax," she says, laughing out loud and giving his hand a squeeze. She can't deny how much fun it is to tease him. "And I hope you don't mind, but I promised we'd name our first child after her. Esperanza. Of course, I'm not sure what we'll do if we have a boy . . ."

He swipes a hand through his hair. "Oh, geeze. Could we just, um, why don't we talk about something else? . . . Uh, so how's the novel?"

Smirking, Morgana shakes her head and accedes to the change of topic. "Fantastic, actually," she tells him. "I don't know what exactly it is, but being here has really helped me regain my focus. I'm nearly finished with my first draft."

"That's amazing," he smiles. "Can I read it?"

"You'll be the first one to read the finished draft," she promises.

"What's it about?"

"I took your advice! It's a historical drama, but it's got magic and forbidden romance and adventure."

"Sounds like something Arthur would be interested in."

"I take it he told you about his desire to turn my first book into a screenplay?" Off his nod, she says, "Well, somehow I don't think this is quite up his alley. The main male character is a servant."

"I'm guessing he doesn't get to swordfight?"

"No," Morgana laughs, "but he does fall in love with the lady of the castle."

And that's when he realizes.

He can't ask her to come with him to Poland.

She belongs here, at least for a while, at least as long as it makes her happy. She's in a foreign country, doing something she loves, with people she's fond of, and he can't take that away by asking her to follow him. If their relationship is going to work, he's got to trust her to make her own decisions.

He gives her a smile. "I can't wait to read it."

* * *

Morgana drives slowly through the area of forest sectioned off as the movie set, Gwen sitting with her legs up in the passenger seat. With the top down in the late August air, the wind teases Morgana's loose dark hair. Even with her sunglasses on, she can see the beginnings of the sunset through the trees, and the convertible rolls through a patch of fading sunlight as she pulls it into a field beside a familiar blue Ford Focus.

Gwen adjusts her ball cap as she gets out of the car and shuts the door. "Do you think we should go find them?"

"You go ahead," Morgana waves. They'd run into Leon, Arthur's stunt double, on their way into the set, who had let them in and told them it was nearly dinnertime. "I'm just going to wait here for Merlin. If you see him, though, could you send him my way?"

"Okay, sure. See you a bit later," Gwen calls, walking backward across the grass. "My mobile's on if you need to find me."

Watching her go, Morgana hops up onto the hood of Arthur's Focus and crosses her ankles. After a few minutes, bored with waiting, she leans back against the windshield and closes her eyes. The sunshine is warm against her skin, provoking a pleasant sleepy feeling, and she's already tired after driving all day.

Just as she's about to doze off, a voice comes from across the field.

"What's this? It appears as if an angel has fallen from the sky!"

She sits up to see her boyfriend's smiling face. "Wow," she drawls, lifting her sunglasses to look at him properly, "I didn't realize you were the Keats of pick-up lines. Should I be worried about this talent? Maybe talk to Arthur about letting you hang out in bars?"

Laughing heartily, Merlin crosses to her, places his hands on her waist, and welcomes her with a deep kiss.

"What are you doing here?" he queries, grinning.

She squirms out of his embrace, walks over to her car, and grabs a bundle of typed pages from the back seat. "I promised you you'd be the first to read it. So here it is, hand-delivered."

Merlin hefts the manuscript and leans against the side of the convertible. He gazes down at the title:

_The Fires of Idirsholas_

"Nice title," he murmurs with a smile. "Intriguing."

She nudges his shoulder. "Turn the page."

Regarding her cagily, he obeys, and his heart melts at the dedication:

_For Merlin, my reason for staying_.

He swallows and takes a deep breath. Morgana slides an arm around his waist and kisses his cheek.

"Hey," she whispers. "Everything all right?"

Smiling, he nods and replies, "Everything's perfect."

Taking a deep breath, he pulls her close and rests his forehead against hers. She runs her hands against his chest, and he realizes how much he's missed every single thing about her, from the scent of her strawberry shampoo to the way she runs her fingers through his hair.

The tingle of her kiss still on his lips, he murmurs, "Thank you."

Smiling, Morgana wraps her arms around his neck. "Do you have some time? I thought we could have a little picnic."

He presses a light kiss to her lips. "I always have time for you."

Morgana's eyes sparkle as she gazes at him, and there's a moment, right before she surrenders to his kiss again, that her heart skips a beat.

And then he grins at her, and it settles comfortably into place.


End file.
